Benjy had a very simple choice to make, and for the moment, he was using it to stare right at Rabastan’s hiding place. There was every chance whoever was chasing him would make it before he decided if his distaste for Rabastan extended far enough to get him in trouble or if there was something to be found in letting him have this.
Ultimately, it wasn’t the goodness of his heart that pulled his gaze away as Slughorn rounded the corner. He had no reason to know it was a “pay it forward” for the trouble he’d managed to get out of for breaking curfew while being on castle arrest. That, and he found a way to entertain himself.
“Who?” Benjy asked, playing it up a bit too far for simply not having heard him.
“Rabastan… Lestrange,” the professor huffed.
“I guess I did hear you right the first time,” Benjy said, shaking his head like he was about to break some truly distressing news. “The name’s just not ringing any bells. Wish I could help.” He remained steady under what was clearly Professor Slughorn trying to decide if he was messing with him, and if he was, whether or not Benjy was worth his time. Apparently, he wasn’t, and he was dismissed with a wave and a “Right, right,” before the professor walked by him before resuming his urgent pace as he reached the corner.
“You’re welcome,” he said to the suits of armor. If he came back for another pass, Rabastan was going to have to fend for himself. He tried. Sort of. As much as could be expected of him.
From the top of his head (groomed often enough that it’s honestly more accurately described, specifically, as luscious locks rather than hair) all the way down to his currently wiggling and impeccably manicured toes, Rabastan’s entire vibe was very much: lead me on. The anticipation, the simmer, the tantalizing trail of heat slowly leading to a scorch? He loved it. Could never get enough of it. But, boy, was this so not the time.
His heart was still hammering from having tried his best to convey this to Benjy, who had continued to stare directly at him until the last possible second. The sported deadpan, borderline stony expression had been super endearing — in a sort of ‘wow, that is definitely how someone who might hate me would look’ kind of way — and, of course, totally did it for him. It honestly took Rabastan by a bit of surprise, too. As far as he knew, the other boy had always seemed too busy trying to fix the world rather than live in it. He was one of those people that worked so feverishly that things like eating and breathing seemed genuinely irritating, a waste of time as much as it was a necessity. Even with talking — as much as the Ravenclaw seemed to never not be doing it — Rab always had the distinct impression that for him it was less ‘for fun’ and more cracking his brain open so that enough ideas could spill out solely to make room for new ones. Considering all this, it was only now that he realized that he didn’t have any hard data for Benjy’s modus operandi on flirting.
But he’ll be damned if he had yet to see a more flawlessly executed tease.
“You know, I’ve had my heart broken exactly forty-seven times,” Rabastan started, two beats after the echo of Slughorn’s footsteps finally petered out. It was the least he could do, to not get immediately caught, after Benjy’s splendid performance, “But that was the first time it’s happened by a single word.”
In fact, if he racked his brain enough, that might have actually been the first time he’s heard ‘Rabastan Lestrange who?’. But he refrained from mentioning it — there probably wasn’t enough room in his head for a big brain and ego anyways.
“Oh, right, thank you! I gotta say, just in case nobody’s told you, this whole ‘screw you, you, and especially you’ thing you’re doing is a really good look. Like, sexy even. No, seriously, are you totally getting some ‘rebel with a heart of gold saves innocent damsel who shouldn’t be seen with such a convicted cad lest papá finds out’ vibes here? Because I am.”
I guess it goes without saying, but that is an exquisite cloak. I understand that this isn’t a far stretch from your usual style — there’s always a fair bit of excitement to see what you’ve got to showcase during Ministry events — but are you now trying to make a statement in your selections?
Well, first of all, thank you for the compliment. I feel like I’ve gotta mention that this is occamy-inspired, native to and currently endangered in the Far East. Hunter, he’s always got these bursts of inspiration from the world around him, you know? He, like, cares and wants to spread awareness not to their, um, their plight but more on the beauty that they offer. So he spends, like, weeks — literally weeks — trying to get, like, this little bit right here of my sleeve to match a single feather. It’s pretty insane.
Anyways, right, a statement. I mean... I suppose so. I mean, I agree with everything he’s trying to say with this, and I guess in turn I’m saying it too.
Right, of course. And when did you start working with Hunter Claremont? He graduated a few years ahead of you in Hogwarts and was last heard to be apprenticing in Twilfitt and Tattings. That is, of course, before his line Praemium quite literally burst on the scene. Now it seems like you can’t go four blocks down Diagon Alley without seeing one of his cloaks.
Two blocks, actually. I checked.
Hunter’s always been a good friend. I was actually still in school when he released Praemium but it wasn’t long after its success that he reached out to me. Rogues Robes has always been his brainchild — in fact, I’m sure you can still find his early sketches scribbled in the margins of books scattered around Ravenclaw tower. If any current students find those, by the way, I’ll totally get it signed for you.
Anyways, he showed me his ideas, his, I guess, blueprints for what’s next and all that was missing was a muse. That sounded a whole lot more fun than sitting at some desk, and I’ve been given the opportunity to see that I look just as good in a corset as I do a tie. Hunter’s looking to dismantle boundaries and those have never really applied to me.
It certainly seems that he’s picked the right guy! I absolutely adored the cloak you wore to the wedding. It’s often the bride wearing lace, but I must say you pulled it off marvelously.
Thank you. And, actually, both Rodolphus and I were wearing his designs during that happy day!
Is that so? Simply stunning. Is it not a little ironic that the tagline for Rogues Robes is ‘for paramours, not husbands’? I guess exceptions must sometimes be made, especially for such a dashing groom.
Oh, exceptions are always made for Lestranges.
Well, congratulations to the newly wed Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange. I’m sure your parents are quite proud.
They really are. I do also just want to take the time to thank, on behalf of my brother and sister-in-law, everyone who donated to the Society for the Preservation of Historical Magic. Now more than ever, we must take care to remember the work our forefathers put into molding the society and practices we have the safety and comfort of challenging today. To forget our past is to walk blindly into our future.
That’s a good point. Do you have anything else to add — some advice to anyone looking for beauty during these trying times, maybe?
I’ve been traveling a whole lot, you know, just seeing the world through a new lens and gathering inspiration. And I’ve got to say, we’ve got it good here. I mean, everybody’s looking too far inside themselves right now, looking at what’s ‘different’, and it’s... really just not that deep. You control what you put out — nobody else. That’s why I’m content, that’s what these beyond extraordinary designs mean to me.
Look like magic, feel like magic.
Mr. Rabastan Lestrange is currently a strong contender for Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. This page is an excerpt taken from his interview ‘Enchanting Hotels for the Traveling Wizard’, which can be fully accessed in Beguiling Guys’ September issue. Be sure to catch Rabastan’s next breathtaking look in the upcoming Protego Omnis Foundation fundraiser. All proceeds are set to go to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, particularly towards research on the rise of the muggle ailment ‘asthma’ and whether or not it is contagious to wizards.
Mary would hesitate to tell him to his face, because he might just love it too much, but it was never difficult to tell when Rabastan entered a room. Perhaps it was a certain energy he brought to it, whether it was a party that greeted him with a cheer or just a classroom full of students in need of a break from work. Or, maybe, it was just Mary’s own ability to pick his name or his laugh out of the crowd that had her always finding him in the Great Hall or amongst a group hanging out on the lawns.
Some times were easier than others, though. For example, it didn’t take any kind of super natural abilities to be able to hear his voice fill a nearly silent courtyard where most people were too buried in their books to even breathe.
A few others around her bristled at the interruption, but Mary smiled slightly as her eyes went towards it. She had been working on her essay for so long her hand was starting to cramp and all the Latin was blending together to the point of her eyes mixing up alohomora and aguamenti. She had earned a bit of a break.
A quick look around her surrounding areas showed just how long she had been stationed there. Books from five different classes, multiple empty ink vials she had run through, and one quill broken out of frustration, all surrounding her like a summoning circle that brought her into existence.
Knowing it was not going to be a quick job to clean up, she waved over to him to get him to stop so she had more time. When she saw him coming over her way, though, she slowed down, not in so much of a rush if he wasn’t waiting on her.
“Oh, this is awkward. I wasn’t actually waving at you,” she teased, allowing her small smirk to give away the game. “But, I guess if you’re here, you can be enlisted to hang out with me. I need some company that isn’t my nearly incomprehensible notes.”
Emotionally: Rabastan was a chocolate frog that managed to wiggle its way out of a child’s clammy palms, leaping away to joyous salvation only to find its own body melting in the sun and molding into dirt with each hop.
Free, but at what cost.
Well, whatever the cost was, he was ready to pour every single galleon from his vault into it — because the only thought he could wring out of his lone brain cell was that catching sight of Mary MacDonald and seeing that she was already smiling at him was priceless. Rabastan would like to think that he kept his cool. He’d love to believe that his responding grin was still cloaked in silk and that his steps moving towards her still counted as a saunter but also who the hell was he kidding. On any given day, it would have been an uphill battle. This week, however, mired by scowls and shushes and threats to permanently transfigure him into a turtle if he didn’t ‘shut the hell up, dear Merlin above’, made any scrap of warmth tossed his way mirage into an oasis.
It’s been so long since someone looked glad to see him.
“Well, that’s awkward because—“ Rabastan made a show of whipping a glance over his shoulder, cheerfully ignoring the glares sliced his way and catching sight of white tufty hair bobbing down the corridor, “—I really wasn’t looking to duel Flitwick for your attention today. I will, don’t think I won’t. And when he eviscerates me, leaving me bedridden in the hospital wing covered in aesthetically-pleasing scars, you’re gonna be so so sad.”
He did not, however, leave to go pick a fight with the two-foot professor. Instead, Rabastan dropped down on one knee and held both hands out in L-formation.
“Also, how dare you,” he tsk’d, right eye winking closed as he pantomimed zooming a camera in on the mess surrounding her, “I’m here to study, Mary. Like a good student. Didn’t you hear that Kettleburn’s handing out extra credit? Three feet of parchment on the documentation and observations of Hogwarts’ ‘hidden beauties’. Now, I’ll admit it, I naively thought of the mermaids at first...”
Rabastan swung his sights back towards her face, beaming out every bit of warmth now settled in his chest. “But that was before I discovered the castle’s one and only veela! Please, go on with what you were doing — it’s best that I capture you in your honest form. Naturally unearth your secrets. For example: is it somehow easier to write essays if you break every single one of your quills, or is that something that only works if you’re magically engineered to be gorgeous?”
By this point, Davey was familiar with the signs of someone dodging detention. Merlin knew he’d been in the same situation himself a dozen times, and being in a year with plenty of pranksters and daredevils to go around, he carried a distinct sympathy for all of them. And, well, even if this wasn’t exactly what he’d want any of them to do for him, he would’ve helped Rabastan out anyway.
“Oh, yeah, just missed him,” Davey answered. “Rounded the corner going the other way, so you’ve got a bit of distance to makeup.” He knew the Potions master had absolutely no love for him, and he didn’t blame him. With all the truly accidental damage he caused his classroom, it was entirely fair. After two years, though, it seemed enough had been forgotten that Slughorn believed him and went off in the direction he suggested. “Best of luck, sir!” he called after.
Only when he was sure he was gone did he say without fully looking at Rabastan, “So what’d you do?” He was certain enough he was in the clear, but that was one of few risks that wasn’t his to take.
There were very few things in the world that made Rabastan blush. It may actually be directly diluted from the stony glare Rodolphus had inherited from their father, the way Rab could lead a debate over breakfast on whether or not the Bloody Baron got pegged without so much as a blink. His very own version of the Lestrange Lour, and usually just as impenetrable.
But, Slytherin’s sins, Davey Gudgeon was so tall. Far stronger men have been toppled by less.
Which is why Rabastan, distinctly aware that the heat on his neck was no longer due to being chased halfway around the castle, ducked down further. Slughorn was thoroughly distracted but he needed time to fix his hair. By the time the professor was once again huffing away, he was composed and prepared and the top two buttons of his shirt had magically become undone.
“What’d I do?” he repeated, slipping out from his hiding place. Rabastan crossed his arms, oh so casually leaning against a knight. The smile he shot at Davey was one that he’s been practicing since he was fourteen — wide, inviting, and spotlighting both dimples in dazzling fluorescence. “Now, Davey, I don’t want you getting the wrong impression of me. Admitting fault and therefore imperfection is, like, second base — I haven’t even taken you out for dinner yet!”
Rabastan had to fight to water down the shot of eagerness riding on his next words. He was sure he succeeded, but if so it was only thinned to an aftertaste.
“I’m completely free now though. For dinner, I mean — not second base. I am a gentleman.”
Remus was no stranger to hiding in the halls of Hogwarts - it had been a long time since they’d had to, obviously, due to Invisibility Cloaks and generally being busy, but he’d hidden behind many a statue in his day. Holding his breath and praying for Filch to carry on his merry way.
Hiding from Horace Slughorn was - not something he could say he’d ever done, at least not to the extent Rabastan Lestrange currently was. Remus had spotted him immediately behind the suit of armor as he turned the corner, eyebrows raising in comical surprise; only supplemented by the wheezing appearance of Professor Slughorn a few moments later.
“Oh, hello, Professor,” Remus greeted Slytherin’s Head of House cheerfully, despite all the stress and trauma he was currently projecting on the man by virtue of the Potions NEWT he was dreading on the very very near horizon. He didn’t need to glance back at Rabastan to know what was happening, and a pleasant smile was on his perpetually revisions-induced sleepy face. “I think I saw him go past me just now, yeah, he took a left by the statue of Eupraxia Mole - but, Professor, I was hoping I could ask you for a bit of - “
“Not now, Lupin, sorry - office hours are - you know,” Slughorn huffed, not unkindly, already on his way following Remus’s bogus directions. Remus snorted to himself, muttered a soft “Right,” and watched the man disappear, then turned towards Rabastan’s hiding place with a cheeky smirk.
“I think Professor Slughorn was just looking for you, mate.”
Rabastan almost effectively and immediately blew his cover with a muffled ‘ah, shit’. Not that he had anything against Remus — in fact, the boy’s been a popular constant in his Top Ten Would Love to Run My Hands Through Their Hair list. It’s just, out of all the prefects, he still wasn’t entirely sure how lenient he’d be on his antics. Everyone knew and (some with debate) loved their chaotic knot of Gryffindors, of course, were aware of the hijinks they got into, but it also wasn’t too hard to miss their dynamic. If you were to snap a photograph of that particular group at any given moment it would be James and Sirius in the middle, up to something, Peter tottling after them, and Remus laughing but with the unmistakable air of someone determined to be patient. Rabastan knows the look rather intimately, because his own friends gave it to him all the time.
So he couldn’t really blame Remus if he decided ‘well, not one of my designated problems’ and gave him up. He figured he still had it in him for one more sprinting escape, prepared himself for launching to do so, but stopped short when Remus instead easily conjured a smile. Impeccably darling, by Merlin maybe he’s got it all wrong — maybe the chief charmer in that group was him. The other boy wasn’t looking at him, so he probably didn’t see the surprise evident on his face. It was a fully blown grin by the time Slughorn heaved a sigh and started off down the hall.
Rabastan waited two beats and then shimmied his way out from his hiding place. The smile that he shot Remus was saturated with gratefulness, but a wink was hot on its heels and accompanied by a blithe, “Oh? What makes you think that?”
Perhaps he owed his savior an explanation, but he also had the distinct impression that Remus was secretly a fan of plausible deniability. Especially considering that the taller boy looked like he was one more stressor away from splitting at the seams.
So instead Rabastan leaned against his other savior — the suit of armor— fished a flask out of his pocket, and took a long swig.
“It’s mango-guava shake,” he said quickly, offering it out, “But also maybe you should check yourself, since I am absolutely not as good of a liar as you. If you fail your NEWTs and crash under the pressure and spiral into oblivion with nowhere else to turn, send me an owl. My mother’s got contacts with the headmaster of the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts and you’d look wonderful as a tortured artist. Say, is that grey in your hair — Salazar’s sins, you’ll be getting knickers in the fan mail for sure, lucky bastard!”
There are a lot of things in life that Rabastan runs from, actually. Responsibilities, negative thoughts, unsavory experiences. Oh, and spiders too — creepy fucks. There are a lot, so much so that he is neither unused to or ashamed of doing so by now, but he did have to admit that dodging corners to keep away from an out of breath, very balding middle-aged man was new.
“Rab...as..tan...!” Professor Slughorn huffed, really at this point waddling after him rather than chasing. As he has been doing so for the past fifteen minutes (on top of the past couple months) Rabastan feigned obliviousness to his Head of House’s attempts. Simply proceeded down another corridor, one very much in the away direction from the History of Magic lesson he should have been heading to. What he really needed was some stairs — the wheezing potions master certainly wouldn’t be able to take another one of those — but all he came upon was yet another assembly of metal knights. Starting to run out of breath as well, he decided to duck and crouch behind some but not before spotting another student appearing at the other end of the hall.
As Slughorn’s footfalls began schlepping towards them, he had just enough time to catch the newcomer’s eyes. Just enough time for them to surely see his panic.
“Ex....cuse.....me...” the professor’s voice appeared somewhere to the right of Rabastan. Desperately, he put a finger to his now pouting lips, summoning the best performance of ‘please don’t rat me out’ that he could silently muster as Slughorn asked, “Did you happen to see Rabastan Lestrange come through here?”
Date of Birth: 11 August 1960
Horoscope: Leo
Hogwarts House: Slytherin
Nationality: Dual Citizen of the UK and France
Occupation: Having received explicit permission to do whatever the fuck, Rabastan has decided to do exactly that after graduation. It’s not like he actually has to earn money. In his heart of hearts he would love to do something relating to animals (professional hippogriff cuddler?) but, realistically and -- more importantly -- easier, modeling is a path already paved in offers for him. There’s an endorsement opportunity for Rogues Robes that he’s been considering for a while.
Summarized in One Word: Extreme
APPEARANCE ➤
Faceclaim: Rome Flynn
Height: 6′1″
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Noticeable Features: Broad, giddy smile with a side of dimples. Also dat ass.
Typical Outfit or General Fashion Sense: loud patterns, has never once worn a solid color that wasn’t offensively bright, and a distinct preference for androgynous styles. He clearly borrows (enlarged) blouses from Narcissa when he’s looking to be formal. Does not own sweatpants.
HISTORY ➤
Hometown: Rabastan was born in Paris, France but spent most of his childhood traveling everywhere else. The estate in Wiltshire, however, holds the fondest memories of playing with friends from other important families while their parents were busy doing whatever parents did. The expansive, lush, secluded hills were the perfect playground for them to teeter within that delicate balance of growing up too fast and not at all.
Financial Status: disgustingly rich
Spoken Languages: French and English, bits of Italian and Spanish from his travels. He’s also fairly decent at Mermish, but doesn’t know it because the Great Lake mermaids refuse to let him know it.
Bad Habits:
Drinks too much
Addicted to nicotine
Never brings his own quills, if you sit next to him bring extra or he’ll annoy you about it the entire lecture
Cannot stop himself from touching other people’s stuff
Will not be the one to move out of the way if you’re on the same path coming from opposite directions
FAMILY BACKGROUND ➤
Mother: Melisende (née La Trémoille), a pureblood witch and Beauxbaton alumni. Met Tiernan Lestrange one time when she was fourteen, and married him when she was eighteen.She is a fixture in every society event and created the Protego Omnis Foundation in an effort to fund and research magical maladies as well as spread awareness and the potential dangers of muggleborne diseases.
FC: Anika Noni Rose
Father: Tiernan Lestrange, youngest son and heir of Corvus Lestrange VI and Clarisse Tremblay. Works as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries.
FC: Colman Domingo
Sibling(s): Rodolphus Lestrange. Despite their wildly contrasting differences, Rabastan loves and looked up to his brother immensely. He only competed with him in childhood because he thought it would be the thing that brought them closer together. He trusts Rodolphus’ judgement more than anyone else’s in the world and would follow him anywhere.
Pet(s): A very fat, very tiny fieldmouse named Señor Mortimer von Theobald. Usually found in Rabastan’s pocket or scampering around in his little ball that Rab got one of the Ravenclaws to make for him (charmed to repel owls, cats, and acromantulas).
Grandparent(s): Corvus VI and Clarisse Lestrange have since retired to the Paris family estate where they drink wine all day and prepare for the time they will willingly waltz themselves down to sleep forever in the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise Lestrange Mausoleum.
Cousin(s): Wiped from any significant record, Corvus Lestrange VII, the eldest son of Corvus VI and Clarisse, does not have children and if he did Rabastan would never have met them. ‘Do not associate with burnt stains on the tapestry’ is a rule he actually follows.
MAGICAL ABILITIES ➤
Wand: English Oak, Unicorn tail, 13’’ and supple
Patronus: While Rabastan has the capacity to produce a patronus he does not yet have the skill to produce a corporeal one. He’s got a plethora of memories to choose from though, as anything and everything that can be remotely deemed ‘happy’ is bathed in blindingly amplified light. If he ever manages to focus down enough to learn how to cast a full one, it would be a hummingbird.
Boggart: Rodolphus, but colder and harsher than ever. Rodolphus, but in an image of strength and power and darkness that he can’t ever hope to mirror. Rabastan doesn’t like thinking about it much, but when he’s drunk and spacing out sometimes his mind wanders and begins to piece together the distressing realization that his greatest fear is that he’ll never be of the same caliber as his older brother, that he couldn’t keep him from going too far down that path – and that that might just get him killed someday.
OWLS:
Care of Magical Creatures - O
Herbology - O
Charms - E
Potions - E
Transfiguration - A, begged McGonagall to consider him into the sixth year NEWT class but dropped it in the middle of the semester
Defense Against the Dark Arts - A, continued through the NEWT course anyways because the professor in their sixth year was a family friend
History of Magic - E
Ghoul Studies - E
What Kind of Magic do They Excel at: Magic that he can feel is what Rab loves the most. It’s why he does pretty well in Charms despite his careless view on studying; magic that feels like an accomplishment, that has fantastical results intrigues and captivates him. He loves to take pleasure in what he can do.
PSYCHOLOGY ➤
MB Type: Entertainer - ESFP-A
Entertainers love the spotlight, and all the world’s a stage. Utterly social, Entertainers enjoy the simplest things, and there’s no greater joy for them than just having fun with a good group of friends. Though it may not always seem like it, Entertainers know that it’s not all about them – they are observant, and very sensitive to others’ emotions. People with this personality type are often the first to help someone talk out a challenging problem, happily providing emotional support and practical advice. However, if the problem is about them, Entertainers are more likely to avoid a conflict altogether than to address it head-on. Entertainers are welcome wherever there’s a need for laughter, playfulness, and a volunteer to try something new and fun – and there’s no greater joy for Entertainer personalities than to bring everyone else along for the ride.
Enneagram:
Type 9 - 98% Match
Type 9 is also called The Peacemaker. Nines like to keep a low profile and let the people around them set the agenda.
Type 7 - 88% Match
Type 7 is described as The Enthusiast. Sevens want to have as much fun and adventure as possible and are easily bored.
Type 2 - 87% Match
Type 2 can be described as The Giver. Twos want to be liked and find ways that they can be helpful to others so that they can be loved and belong.
Moral Alignment: True Neutral
A neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. They don't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. Most neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. Such a character thinks of good as better than evil-after all, they would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. Still, they’re not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way.
Archetype:
47% Performer
Taking center stage comes naturally to the Performer, whether at the water cooler or in front of an audience. They are magnetic and know how to inspire.
37% Caregiver
Friendly, sincere, and compassionate, the Caregiver finds their reward in helping others. No one could ask for a better best friend.
16% Tastemaker
The Tastemaker is always on top of the trends—or starting their own. Their sense of style is second to none and their taste, impeccable.
Temperament: Sanguine
Sanguine people are boisterous, bubbly, chatty, openly emotional, social extroverts. In our distant past, the sanguine members of the pack might have played a supportive, encouraging, social role. They would have been the glue that kept the group together. In modern society, you might see them as entertainers, singers, dancers, or perhaps simply as the energetic people at parties.
Getting Marlene McKinnon to study took more steps than conjuring the dead. The light had to be at a certain angle, it was too loud, too quiet, and whatever else excuse she could come up with at the time. The golden rule was she absolutely could not study in the library— it was absolutely maddening. Then again she really couldn’t study anywhere else. Her dorm? Mary or Lily would distract her. The Great Hall? Something else much more entertaining than her schoolwork would catch her attention. Anywhere else? Who knew what she’d say exactly, but Merlin knows the Gryffindor would come up with an excuse. So there she sat; nose in a book but not taking in a single word from the page she read for only the third time now. “Is there really even a point?” she asked in her dramatic fashion— as if she was asking for the reasoning behind life itself rather than studying for her exams. “I must already know what I’m going to know when I’m taking the exams.” Rolling her eyes Marlene pushed the textbook away. “I’m just stressing myself out now.”
“Those,” Rabastan announced from clear across the room, “are the most genius words to exist at this very moment! And I’m currently reading Charms to Alarm by Killian Agrippa, known genius.”
No he wasn’t. Actually, Rabastan hasn’t opened a single textbook all week — a fact so evident by the noticeable absence of silent panic in his eyes that everyone else has been carrying for the past month. Nope, he looked positively chipper, and was only in the library because his roommates had threatened him with murder if he’d stayed a second longer in the dorm.
The glares shot his way were definitely on the verge of threatening him with even more, but if he noticed he didn’t let on. Instead, Rabastan scraped his chair back as he stood (several hands irritably inched toward their wands at the noise) and trounced his way over to Marlene. Plopped down and beamed at her as if they were the only sane ones in the vicinity.
“Did you know that sleep helps with memory retention? Would help with the stress too. Wanna do it together — for some odd reason, nobody wants to be my study buddy.”
